


don’t take love off the table yet

by epilogues



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Apocalypse, End of the World, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 10:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epilogues/pseuds/epilogues
Summary: the sirens are going off again.orpete doesn't know how he feels and maybe patrick doesn't either but it's the end of the world. there's no time to really figure it out.





	don’t take love off the table yet

**Author's Note:**

> i. don't know what this is, this was one of my "wrote it in one sitting, didn't plan anything, haven't proofread it," kinda fics but i think i like it!

The sirens are going off again. It seems like they’re always going off lately, and Pete and Patrick barely blink as they head down into the basement and seal the door.

There’s some alert sounding from the radio in the corner, but they’ve both heard the same old words too many times at this point.  _ Another wave is entering Chicago from the north.  _ (Another one. Like there’s really any separation anymore.)  _ Citizens are advised to take shelter.  _ (That’s a joke. Pete and Patrick are pretty sure they’re among the only ones left. They were going to evacuate, head out to L.A. to at least be with everyone else when their hourglasses inevitably run out, but Patrick didn’t want to leave his city at first, and there hasn’t been enough time between waves since for them to actually have a chance of making it out alive.)  _ Radio signals may fail at any time. Citizens are not advised to leave their shelters until all clear is sounded.  _ (The all clear. The last one they received was only yesterday, and they’re only getting fewer and farther between. Pete won’t be surprised if they’re down here for another two weeks minimum this time.)

“Hey, don’t forget, we need to pick up batteries next time we can,” Patrick says, clicking one of the flashlights. Its beam flashes on weakly before Patrick shuts it off, and he shakes his head slightly when he sees their dwindling pile of double a’s.

“Remind me once we’re back on the surface,” Pete answers. Patrick’s the worrier here, the “do we have enough food, enough water, are you sure we don’t need to stock up on anything,” while Pete tries… not to dwell on that, at least not when they’re down in the basement. If they don’t have food, they don’t have food, and worrying about it isn’t going to change that.

Patrick nods and moves on to check the water supply, brows furrowed, and Pete walks over and wraps his arms around him. “Hey,” Pete says softly. “We’re okay. We got more of pretty much everything yesterday, we’ll be okay.”

“But what if it’s another long stretch? Pete, we really only have enough for a week right now.” Patrick disentangles himself from Pete’s arms and steps away to scrutinize the canned food stacked in the corner.

“We’ll be okay,” Pete insists, even though he’s not entirely sure himself. “C’mon, taking inventory isn’t going to make more shit magically appear. I’m gonna go chill, maybe take a nap, I think it’s nighttime? I don’t know, my sense of time’s been fucked since we boarded the windows over.”

“Same,” Patrick admits. “But we should still know what we have so we know how to ration it out, and - “

Just then, the radio crackles to life again, blaring the now-familiar government broadcast tones before a static-y voice says,  _ Citizens can now safely exit their shelters. The wave has moved back north. This is the all clear. I repeat, this is the all clear. _

Pete feels the tension in the small cement basement dissipate like a sigh as soon as he and Patrick hear the words “all clear.” 

“See?” he tells Patrick with a grin. “Told you we were all good.”

Patrick shakes his head, grumbling under his breath about Pete apparently wanting to starve to death, but Pete sees the way the tension is mostly gone from his body. “Let’s just go back up, okay?”

Pete nods and follows Patrick back up to the surface. Even though they’ve been down there for much longer before and survived, there’s still something stale and claustrophobic about any time spent in the shelter. The house might be just as much of a prison sometimes, but at least here Pete can step away before he’s too much for Patrick, can step away and think about… well. He doesn’t like thinking about him, doesn’t like thinking about the way he was just getting supplies for a little too long, and then his name was broadcasted out across the city that night.

Those broadcasts have stopped long ago. There’s no one left to die, no one left to disappear, and especially no one left to keep a record of everyone that’s gone. It scares Pete, sometimes, when he’s out on a supply run, to think that he might never come back and Patrick won’t have a choice but to assume the worst. ( _ And,  _ Pete thinks,  _ the worst will probably be the truth. _ )

“Hey,” Patrick says suddenly, voice cutting through the physical relief of being out of the basement. “Uh, I found some old VHS tapes earlier when I was looking for candles, and I thought maybe we could have movie night if there’s actually electricity tonight?”

Pete’s a little surprised. Normally they both have to separate from the other after being stuck in that small space together for only a few minutes, but he’s been thinking about the past a little too much tonight and it’s probably best for him to not be alone. “Yeah, okay, that sounds fun. Did you find  _ Grease _ ?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Overrated,” he says, but he nods towards the small stack of dusty tapes on the counter anyway. “Yeah, it’s in there.”

Pete picks it up with a grin and fairly bounds into the living room. The TV flickers to life on the first press of the remote, surprisingly, and Patrick quickly hits the channel button before they have to see the news. L.A. has… better coverage of everything, and the problem with being famous is that it’s usually your friends with their faces on the news first. 

  
(At first, Pete and Patrick made themselves watch. It was a sick duty, on nights when they were on the surface, to watch and keep track of everyone they lost. Most nights weren’t bad. But then there was the one time where Gabe’s face was first, and then Bill’s, and then Andy’s, and it was too much. They haven’t watched since.)

_ Grease  _ starts playing as Pete flops onto the couch and curls into a ball with his head on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick, for all his disdain for the movie, is humming under his breath.

Pete snorts softly and closes his eyes for a moment. He’s missed nights like these. Nights before the outbreak and before the sirens and before the constant worry and before everything changed.

“I’m sorry if I snapped earlier,” Pete murmurs into Patrick’s neck. “I just hate to see you worry when there’s nothing we can do.”

Patrick leans his head onto Pete’s and says, “It’s okay. I know I’ve had a stick up my ass for the past year.”

Pete snorts again. “Maybe you just need something else up there to help you relax.

“Gross,” Patrick says, but he’s laughing, and Pete feels a little like he’s won something. “That was more you and… “ he trails off, memories sinking back into the room and pulling everything down with their weight.

“Okay, yeah, that was more of me and Joe’s thing,” Pete finishes. He forces a laugh and pretends everything is normal because they can’t just keep on not saying his name forever, can’t keep acting like he’s safe in L.A. with whoever’s left. “Still, the offer remains…”

Patrick mock shoves at Pete, not hard enough to move him or anything, just to let him know that  _ it’s okay. I’m here. This hasn’t changed.  _ “Oh, shut up and watch the movie, you wanted to watch this so bad anyway,” he says.

Pete just pushes closer to Patrick, almost like he’s trying to melt into his skin and hide there, and doesn’t say anything else. He sings softly along with the movie, lips brushing Patrick’s shoulder and neck as he does, and Patrick doesn’t tell him to fuck off until Pete gets bored enough to lick his collarbone.

“Ew, get your tongue off me,” Patrick grumbles. He pushes Pete off his shoulder, which only results in Pete letting himself fall forward into Patrick’s lap. 

Patrick seems to decide that it’s a losing battle at this point and just ignores Pete. 

Pete… doesn’t ignore Patrick. In fact, he’s actually watching him more than the movie - the soft glow of the TV illuminating his face, the set of his jaw that’s more relaxed than Pete’s seen it in months, the way his lips curve around the words as he sings under his breath.

Pete wonders, not for the first time, if he should just  _ go for it.  _ All’d he have to do from here would sit up a little, get Patrick to face him, and then they’d be kissing. Pete’s  _ pretty  _ sure that Patrick wouldn’t punch him, at least not until he really processed what was going on, and then Pete could pull away laughing and pass it off as a joke, a “last two on Earth” ploy, a typical Pete Wentz publicity stunt even when there aren’t any cameras around.

The only thing is, Pete’s not entirely sure what truth he’d be covering up with any of those lies. He doesn’t know if he’s actually in love with Patrick or if he just misses Joe enough to pretend or if he’s just tired of his right hand. He doesn’t know, and he feels like maybe this is one of those things that he probably should figure out before he just  _ does  _ it. But hey, since when has Pete been good at decisions? Not to mention that the world’s kind of ending just outside of their door, and since when has anything mattered when everyone you love is dying?

“Patrick?” he whispers, and Olivia Newton-John keeps crooning in the background as Pete sits up a little, face just below Patrick’s chin. 

Patrick looks down at him, and the angle is terrible and Pete’s breath is probably worse, but then Pete’s kissing Patrick and he kind of forgets about all of the negatives.

Patrick kisses back almost immediately, and he doesn’t slap Pete or shove him off the couch or anything that Pete thought he would do. Once Pete’s realized that holy  _ shit,  _ this is actually happening, he sits up all the way and kisses Patrick properly, and they stay like that, kissing, until they’re both breathless and a little shell-shocked as they pull away. 

“Pete?” Patrick says, his voice uncertain. “Why…”

“I love you,” Pete blurts out, and it’s… true. It’s true because yes, he loves Patrick, has loved him since pretty much always, but he’s still not completely sure if he  _ loves  _ Patrick or if this is just some fucking rebound. But he says it again, “I love you,” because it’s easier if it’s true. 

Patrick’s eyes are shining in the light of the T.V. as he says, “I love you, too,” and maybe he sounds just as uncertain as Pete is, but neither of them say anything as Pete leans back in.

They kiss until the sirens go off again. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! feedback makes my day :D


End file.
